You're The Only One I Want To Belong To
by LadyAryaBaratheon
Summary: Stiles and Erica grow closer together, and become stronger for it. Begins after 2x12!


**Author's Note:** Hola! Yet another Sterica fic :L I'm planning for this to have more chapters, but seeing as the plot is very vague as of yet (and by very vague I mean completely up in the air!) and I'll be going back to school soon, the uploads will be few and far between for awhile, since as I want to finish my ASOIAF fic soon as well, but once everything is steadied out I can't wait to write more Sterica, because I'm completely obsessed with them! ;P Anyways, there'll probably be OneShots popping up all over the place until I figure the plot out :L Enjoy, and please review!

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything!**

Erica tugged on a jacket, the chill of the cold air outside hitting her through the open windows of her bedroom. She'd opened them to wake herself up, the sharp slap of the frigid wind blowing away the grogginess of sleep from her mind.

She laced up her boots, listening to her parents snores. Her mother, for all her petite, plastic squeakiness during the day, roared as loud as a lion during the night. She slid out the window, dropping to the ground two floors below lightly. She made her way to the crossroads a couple blocks away, where Isaac was waiting in his car.

"Hey," She said, getting in. "Do you know what this is about?"

He shook his head, pulling away from the kerb. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair messy. "All I know is Derek called me at three am and told me to get down to the train depot as fast as I could. And to pick you up on the way." He added as an afterthought, yawning.

She rubbed her knuckles into her eyes, the warmth of the car trying to lull her back to sleep. "Yeah. You can bet it's something serious if he's talking in short, dramatic sentences, though."

"Guess this is really important, then." He replied, speeding along the deserted road, headlights eating the ground.

Erica didn't really care how important it was. It was _three_ in the _morning_. Erica liked sleeping, but it seemed Derek didn't. She didn't understand why he had them heading for the train station in the middle of the night; everything had been quiet. The Alphas that had stopped her and Boyd in the woods hadn't done _anything_. They'd offered to let Derek join their pack; he'd said no. The End. They'd spent the last few weeks trying to incorporate Jackson into their pack, teaching him how to fight, and control himself, the newly-resurrected Uncle Peter observing and making sassy comments.

Isaac pulled up in front of the station, parking his car in shade. They headed down, Isaac stifling yawns and Erica giving in to them.

It was even colder in the abandoned station, her breath misting in the gloomy air. Derek was leaning on one of the old train cars. Erica's eyes darted around, taking in Jackson standing next to Boyd, and Scott, sitting on an old oil drum, his head in his hands.

"What's going on?" She asked, anxiety beginning to overwhelm her irritation..

Derek huffed a sigh, but it was Scott who spoke, his voice muffled. "It's Stiles."

Something cold bloomed in her stomach, crawling up her chest and clawing at her throat. "What about him?" She managed.

"The Alphas took him." Derek said, and Scott stood, pacing agitatedly.

"What? Why?" Isaac said, incredulity colouring his voice.

Scott scrubbed a palm across his forehead. "Because of me, okay? Because of me."

"Sc-" Derek began.

"No!" Scott yelled back. "It's because of me. They're hurting him because of me. Because I wouldn't do what Gerard wanted."

"Gerard? I thought he was dead. What's he got to do with it?" Isaac asked. Erica was glad he'd said it, because her voice seemed to have fled.

"He's working with the Alphas. They tried to make Scott spy on us again- he refused. Stiles was with him, and he- Well, he was Stiles. His dad called Scott going crazy because someone broke into the house. They took him." Derek replied, folding his arms.

"What?" Erica snapped flatly, her throat dry. "How do you know it was them, h- how- how do you know they were the ones who took him?"

Scott held up his phone, pure pain in his eyes.

After a few seconds of silence, a scream broke the dead silence. It ripped through Erica, because she knew that voice, knew it as well as her own.

Stiles shrieked in pain, pure, pure agony in his voice, on and on and on for so long Erica thought it would never end. It broke off into a few broken whimpers, gasping and panting, and then there was a sharp cracking sound, and it started up again, waving and undulating, loud enough to hurt Erica's overly-sensitive ears.

It cut off mid-scream, Scott stuffing his phone into his pocket. "It goes on for ten minutes." He whispered. "It's from his phone."

No one spoke, the dead silence loud in her ears.

"Well, where is he?" She demanded.

"I don't know, okay?" Scott snapped back. "I don't know." He sat heavily back down on the oil drum. "I came here because the more of us there are looking for him the faster we'll find him."

"Let's go, then! Do you have stuff for us to scent?"

He nodded, pointing to the rucksack at his feet. "We were waiting for you and Isaac. You two can go in his car, I'll go with Boyd and Jackson's with Derek." He opened the bag and tossed stuff to them. Erica caught a shirt, Isaac a shoe, Boyd a sock, Jackson a pair of pants and Derek a jacket.

"This is the stuff that was in his bag the last time we went training, he left it my car. Just drive around and scent for him, and call us if you find anything."

"Why do I always get his shoes?" Isaac asked thoughtfully. Scott grinned, but Erica's chest was too tight to smile.

They headed up to the cars, Jackson complaining about how he always got babied because he was the new kid. Erica was on the verge of smacking him in his stupid face, but Boyd caught her eye, his dark gaze calming. Boyd alone knew how she felt- or rather her how she didn't feel- about Stiles. Stiles wasn't just a person she knew vaguely- which was what he _should _be, considering she'd had all of five conversations with him, in four of which she'd had her walls up, guns blazing, and in the other she'd only been conscious for ten seconds- but the fact of the matter was Stiles was _important_ to he. Important when he shouldn't be_. _She'd spent her childhood watching him, wondering, admiring, always invisible. Then, when she'd become _very_ visible, it had only gotten worse, because he noticed her now, talked to her, but still didn't really see her. But then, that might be her own fault, for not letting herself be seen.

She swung back into Isaac's car, winding the windows down. They took off, three sets of headlights heading off in random directions. She hoisted herself out the window, perching on the door and clinging to the roof with one hand, pressing the shirt to her face with the other, the wind stinging her eyes. The smell of Stiles clung to it strongly, warm and sweet, almost like vanilla. She took the shirt from her nose, tilting her face towards the wind, searching for the same scent in the air.

Isaac always drove fast, but to Erica it seemed tonight he was crawling along at a snail's pace. They wound through the town, dark windows in cozy houses and oblivious, sleeping people snoring loud in her ears as they sped by.

"Speed up!" She yelled towards the window, the wind snatching her words.

"What?" He called back.

"Speed-" She started, breaking off sharply when her lungs flooded with a trace of a familiar scent.

Was that it? Yes. It was. Definitely. She looked around the street they were on. It was all abandoned warehouses, boarded up and empty, silvered in the moonlight.

It hit her then, stronger, sweet and warm and inviting, from the right- her side. But there was something different, something sharper… Almost metallic.

"Isaac!" She yelled. "Stop! Stop, stop right now!"

He heard her this time, pulling over. She leapt from the car before it had stopped moving, swinging her legs out of the window, hitting the ground running. Her hair whipped back, the cold wind cutting through her jacket. She followed her nose, heading for the second building. Her claws were out, her teeth catching on her lower lip, the world taking on a red tint. She could hear Isaac yelling after her, knew that they were supposed to wait and call the others, but the quiet, calm little voice in the back of her mind telling her that was drowned out by the rage boiling in her heart- because that sharp metallic smell tainting the Stiles' scent was _blood_, coppery and sharp, stinging her nose. Stiles was in there, bleeding, with the people who had made him make the sounds on Scott's phone, screams and shrieks that echoed through her mind, and she going to rip them apart with her bare hands.

She aimed a savage kick at the door, buckling it. She kicked at the hinge again, it slammed backwards, boards splintering. She rushed into the darkness inside, shadowy corners of a huge, open space, dim light filtering down from the high windows. Her eyes adjusted quickly, darting round, adrenaline flooding her veins.

"Stiles?" She called out around her teeth.

There was a shuffle and a creak, and something fell from the balcony-thing on the upper floor, a thick rope tied to the railings. It dropped, and then the rope snapped jarringly, swinging out sharply before jerking back against the brick wall next to the rusted staircase with a thud.

There was duck tape over his mouth, his eyes swollen and purple, gashes across his face and neck and bare torso, his jeans ripped and black with blood, one of his legs bent at a sickening angle, hanging by his wrists. His face was twisted with pain, the barely-faded bruise on his cheek from Gerard covered with a whole set of new ones, blooming yellow and purple. He shouted against the duck tape, his eyes afraid and pleading.

Something exploded against the back of her head, knocking her to the ground. She smacked it again on the concrete floor, throbbing spider webs of pain tracing across temples. Stars exploded in her vision, the world swaying dizzily as she rolled on to her back. Something loomed above her, red eyes and teeth and claws, swiping a hand of razor-sharp nails towards her face. She rolled again, away from it, and heard the thunder-like squeal of the concrete being gouged into. She caught sight of Stiles, bucking against the rope, muffled yells against the tape as his broken leg hit the wall, but still fighting to get free. To get to _her_.

Her vision steadied, the world going red again. She bucked to her feet, running at the wolf, roaring. She tackled it, pulling them both to the ground, her on top. She pulled back her fist, driving it into it's face again and again, her other hand at it's throat, claws digging in. She slashed at it's eyes, revelling in the agonized shriek it made when she tore them into pieces. The same quiet little voice that had told her to wait for the others whispered that she shouldn't be able to _do_ this, this was an _Alpha_, for god's sake, how was she _doing_ this- but she paid it no attention, sinking her claws into it's thick shoulders and jumping to her feet, swinging it round in a circle to gain momentum before hurling it at the brick wall, the stones cracking and crumbling as the blinded Alpha crumpled into a heap on the ground.

She turned back to Stiles, half-panting half-snarling, stalking towards him. She felt rather than saw the black shape hurtling towards her from the left, and turned to meet it, growling, allowing it to tumble her backwards, clawing her in the side. She used the momentum to turn its own strength against it, kicking it hard in the chest. It flew back, above and away from her, and she finished the roll, going over roughly on her head and landing hard on her knees, facing away from it. She whirled, standing, sparing a glance for her torn, bloodied hip, and looked for the wolf. It was gone, the only other thing in the room apart from her and Stiles the unconscious- maybe dead, she thought with relish- Alpha against the wall.

"C'MON!" She yelled, spinning around in a circle, feeling the warmth of the blood spreading over the bottom of her shirt, the air taut with tension.

"Well, aren't you a talented little girl?"

She whirled again, searching, trying to find the voice. It seemed familiar, for some reason.

"That was quite impressive, but I'm afraid my friend won't be very happy with you when she wakes up." Above her, on the balcony Stiles was tied to, a man stepped out of the shadows. Stiles eyes jerked upwards, terror in his gaze. Erica's throat rumbled with a snarl, pure fury at the fear in Stiles eyes boiling in the pit of her stomach.

From what she could see of him, he was tall, and thick around as a tree, his muscled shoulders a bulky silhouette against the dim light. He stepped forwards again, fully into the light. His eyes were green, the red fading from them, greasy black hair flat on his head, a hooked nose curving over a thin, wide mouth. He had a strange smile on his face, almost- almost curious.

"We were expecting the other one, the one with the crooked face and puppy-like naiveté, but… You're a pleasant surprise, aren't you? We thought maybe you and the other one might've left in the time from when we last chatted, but, well… I see some things now that I didn't before." He leant on the railings, pushing the taut rope back and forth with his foot. Stiles made a terrible sound, a muffled, half-suppressed shriek as his broken leg twisted sickeningly against the wall as he rotated. She roared, starting forward, but the man dropped to a knee, grabbing the rope, lifting it high into the air and pressing a sharp claw to it. Stiles was dangled away from the wall, maybe thirty feet in the air. If he dropped, the pain in his leg at the moment would seem like a beautiful dream. She stopped.

She knew who he was, now. He was one of the Alphas- which should have been obvious from the start, given the circumstances- one of the ones from the woods that night, the ones who had told them to take their offer to Derek.

"Good girl." He said, his strange smile widening, his eyes bright with growing glee. "Now, you go tell your little friends that if you don't all _cooperate_, the little mishaps your boyfriend here's experienced will be just the start."

"She doesn't have to tell us."

She unwillingly took her gaze from Stiles, throwing a glance behind her. Isaac walked towards her, hands casually in his pockets. Relief flooded her stomach, chasing away the growing fear and permanent - it seemed - rage.

"Yeah, we heard you ourselves." Boyd said, as Isaac stood at her shoulder.

Her gaze was drawn back to Stiles, fear in his eyes as his gaze darted between the hard ground below him and the psycho holding the rope above him. She started to edge forwards again.

The man's eyebrows darted up. "Oh? You still want him?"

She glared, coming to an unwilling stop as Derek put a hand on her shoulder, Scott and Jackson behind him.

"Isn't this a sweet little pack!" The Alpha exclaimed, stroking the rope with a claw. "Shame you haven't even realised what's happening with your beta- I assume she's a beta, yes? -and our little friend here. Derek, is it?"

She blinked in confusion. There was _nothing_ happening with her and Stiles. Regretfully.

"Argent's told us _all_ about you." He continued, looking over Derek appraisingly. "Anyways," He said, turning back to Erica with that smile on his face. "I assume you still want him?" He shook his fist sharply, jostling the taut rope, and Stiles screamed. In an instant she was underneath him, arms spread to catch him should he fall.

The man laughed, pure delight in his face. He untied the rope, holding it out over her. He began to lower Stiles, the coils of rope around his feet unwinding.

"Go on." He said, his eyes guileless. Trying to watch both Stiles and him at once, she reached up, guiding the trembling boy down. She avoided his leg, trying to be as gentle as possible, each whimper cutting through her like a knife. His almost-gold eyes were terrified, not daring to hope. Erica was just as wary, cutting the rope with a quick slash of her claws, her teeth and nails growing blunter each second Stiles was safe in her arms.

As soon as the rope was slashed, the loose end swinging back to hit the wall as the Alpha wound it back up, she backed away, Stiles' head lolling against his shoulder. Something- something strong coursed through her, an almost- almost animalistic urge to protect him, primal and fierce.

Her vision was still red, her teeth sharpening again. She reached Derek, tightening her grip on Stiles at the sight of the others, the glowing eyes and sharp teeth feeling like threats instead of reassurances.

Scott came towards her, reaching for Stiles, and an inner scream of _MINE_ had her snarling viciously at him. He stopped, shocked. Stiles looked at her with confusion, and something like fear.

"Let her go." Derek said, keeping his red eyes on the other Alpha.

"Bu-"

"Let. Her. Go."

Isaac came towards her, hands spread. "Take my car." He reached around her, ignoring the menacing growl that escaped her throat even she tried to mentally shake herself. They were her friends. Her pack. _Pack_. It didn't help, though. Red eyes, gold, blue- they were all the same in that moment. Threats, threats against _him_, Stiles, who was _hers_.

_But he isn't_, the little voice whispered in her mind, as Isaac put the keys in her pocket, his proximity to Stiles pushing her to snap, to attack, to rip at him with her teeth.

_That's Isaac. Isaac. You're friend. Isaac,_ she told herself, backing away from all of them, heading towards the door, eyes darting between the five wolves closest and the one above, on the balcony, grinning smugly down at them.

She ran towards the car, the conflicting urges to get him away was fast as she could and to not hurt him any more than he was already fighting for control of her limbs. She went around the car, leaning in through the open, driver's door and depositing Stiles gently on the passenger seat. She rushed around the car, opening the other door and leaning in. She gently pried the tape from his mouth, trying to ignore the outrage and incredulity in his eyes.

"Oh Stiles, I'm so sorry, I'll take you to the hospital, and we'll call your dad, oh _Stiles_-"

"What the holy hell was that?" He interrupted her, his voice rough and weak, as she carefully cut the remaining rope from his wrists, the skin beneath raw and bloody.

She didn't answer, taking her off her jacket and tucking it round him. She closed the door, running round to the driver's side and sliding in. She shoved the key in the ignition, taking off and speeding away, headlights eating the road.

His breathing was laboured. "Erica."

She tried to ignore the thrill that fluttered through her as he said her name. The fierce, possessive feeling began to drain from her, fear and doubt rushing to take it's place.

"Answer me. What was that?" She could feel his eyes, but refused to meet them, taking the roads that would take them to the hospital quickest. It was cold in the car, her bare arms goose pimpled, a frigid wind lashing at them through the open windows. Her hands began to shake as the adrenaline left her system, the forgotten slashes in her side stinging sharply, the blood hot as it seeped down her trouser leg.

"You're hurt." He said. Her black tank top was slashed along her left side where the Alpha'd clawed her, the rips gaping open, revealing the deep gashes beneath.

"I'm fine." She replied shortly, shock at her own actions beginning to register with her.

"No, you're not." He said in that stubborn way of his. "But anyways, you gotta tell me the hell that was, because I am freaking out over here-"

"I don't know, okay?!" She snapped, finally meeting his eyes. She bit her lip, turning back to the road, too frightened that the soft, gold gaze would turn angry, critical, afraid- afraid most of all. She didn't want Stiles to be afraid of her.

She exhaled jerkily, uncertainty and confusion cold in her lungs. What had she done? She'd wanted to attack her _friends_, for someone who didn't even belong to her- the fact that he was the only one she _wanted _to belong to her didn't matter. And before that, even, fighting the Alphas- how had she done that? How was that even possible? She was a _beta_, for god's sake, but she could've killed both of them easily if she'd wanted-

She _had _killed one of them, Erica realised, a cold hand clutching at her throat. But hadn't the other one said the one she'd blinded wasn't going to be happy with her when it woke up?- which meant it was _alive_, she realised with a rush of relief.

But she'd _wanted_ to kill it. She'd taken a savage joy out of thinking she _had_. And that was terrifying. For all her talk when they were planning to kill Lydia, to kill Jackson, the girl behind her walls was petrified. She didn't _want_ to kill anyone. At least not on a full moon, she didn't.

Only she had, hadn't she? She'd been proud when she thought she'd killed one of them.

And she'd felt that way because of Stiles. Because he was in danger. Because he was under threat, because he'd been tortured, because he was in pain. Because his leg had been _broken_, goddammit.

What did that _mean_? She knew she was only setting herself up to get hurt by caring about him, because he would _always_ be waiting for Lydia Martin, and she would always be waiting for him. But this- this impossible night, the _impossible_ things she'd done- what did it mean?

"I don't know." She repeated, half to him and half to herself, her heart cold.


End file.
